


Clear Skies Ahead

by hotchoco195



Series: Bad Weather [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Sherlock, F/M, Jim feels, Learning to Feel, M/M, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, mentions of past non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aglaya's aftermath gives the boys a lot to think about. But what happens when a sociopath and a psycho try to define what they have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear Skies Ahead

Jim had never pegged Sherlock as a sunbathing kind of guy, maybe because sun was in short supply in London, but he was seriously hating it now. Since their arrival at Jim’s villa in Sicily the detective had hardly worn a shirt at all. It was incredibly distracting.

“What happened to ‘the body is transport’?” Jim complained as he walked onto the deck to find Sherlock lying there with a book, topless _again_.

“It has nothing to do with vanity. It’s just more convenient than dressing when we aren’t going anywhere.”

“And yet you insist on wearing pants.”

Sherlock gave him a wry smile. “Did you want something?”

“Bastian wants to know our dinner plans.”

“I don’t care, you decide. How are things in St Petersburg?”

Jim’s face went rigid for a second. “Fine. They’re dead.”

“The mob will try to take it back.”

“They can have it. I couldn’t care less what happens.”

Sherlock turned the page and Jim tilted his head to try and read the cover. “Anything good?”

“Jack the Ripper conspiracy theories.”

The Irishman chuckled. “Got your suspect yet?”

“Clearly. They aren’t looking at any of the right details.”

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out over the clear blue waters of the Ionian Sea. With the Russians wrapped up, he needed a new entertainment.

“I’ll tell Seb we want to go out. Do you think you can handle the idea of putting on a shirt?”

“Well it might be tough but I’ll do my best.” Sherlock drawled.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

Jim’s smile lasted until he was back in the house, his thoughts taken over by the irrational rage he always got when someone mentioned St Petersburg. Sherlock acted as though it had been a job, something that happened to someone else, but Jim could never forget that he’d slipped up and Sherlock had paid for it. He headed for the kitchen in a sudden foul mood.

Sebastian was putting away groceries but he paused as Jim walked in. “Boss.”

“Book us a table, Bastian. Somewhere amusing.”

Jim could feel an explosion coming on. Evidently Sebastian saw it too, because he edged towards the knife block and slid it out of Jim’s reach. The mastermind gave him a condescending smile and walked out, heading up to his study. The balcony doors were open, curtains wafting in the breeze. He cracked his knuckles and looked around for something nice and breakable.

Sherlock didn’t even look up when the vase catapulted over the railing and smashed on the lower terrace, but it made Jim feel better.

*****

The restaurant Sebastian picked was ritzy in a relaxed way, sort of luxurious with a fresh Mediterranean air. It had rows of small round tables on a gallery that wrapped around the upper floor, looking out onto flowery hills and the silver sea. Sherlock sat with his hands together under his chin, surveying the room as Jim took a sip of his wine.

“Anyone interesting?” he asked.

“There’s a particularly handsome taxidermist three tables behind you.”

Jim grimaced. “Particularly handsome?”

“Well his date seems to think so. She can barely keep the drool in her mouth.”

Sherlock probably intended it as a joke but Jim couldn’t find it very funny. The detective never remarked on anyone’s looks unless they were expressly relevant. Why should he start now?

“What do you think?”

“Of what?” Sherlock looked at him.

“The taxidermist.”

The brunette gave him another once-over and shrugged. “Tolerably attractive.”

“Tolerably.” Jim ran the word over his tongue.

“Not as good-looking as he’d like to be, that’s for sure.”

A terribly pretty brunette with her shirt cut low brought their meals over. Sherlock smiled at her and Jim fondled his knife like he might stab the woman right there at the table. Sherlock was _never_ charming unless he wanted something. Jim had always thought if Sherlock felt the need he could have talked anyone into bed with a wink and a one-liner but right now it seemed all too plausible.

“Would you like to help me find a new project tomorrow?”

“If you like.”

Jim drove his fork into his chicken harder than he needed to and Sherlock raised a brow, chewing slowly.

“Are you alright?”

Jim looked up in surprise. “I’m fine, Sherly.”

The detective looked like he didn’t quite believe him but he went back to his dinner and Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time they got back to the house Jim had refrained from strangling, electrocuting and slitting the waitress’ face in two. He also had controlled an impulse to tip the table over and turn a gun on the other diners, particularly Mr Taxidermist. He’d finished their bottle of wine, but as Sherlock peeled off to his own room Jim headed for his liquor cabinet and poured himself a tall scotch.

 

Sherlock was dozing lightly when his door creaked open. He yawned and sat up, relaxing as he recognised Jim swaying in the entrance, glass still clutched in his hand. Sherlock pulled back his sheets, beckoning the criminal forward. Jim didn’t even hesitate, setting his drink on the dresser before crawling in next to his partner. Sherlock arranged himself on the other side of the bed, letting Jim curl around him. His hand fell into place on the Irishman’s back and he closed his eyes, nestling into the pillow.

“You haven’t had a bad night since we left Russia.”

Jim clenched his eyes. That wasn’t necessarily true. He’d had bad nights, dreams filled with nightmares about Sherlock and Aglaya and endless pools of blood, but he hadn’t come to the other man for comfort like he would have before. There were too many uncertainties involved in the equation.

“I guess not.” He slurred, burying his face further into Sherlock’s chest. It had been _so long_ since he’d been this close and the scent was almost overwhelming. Jim closed his eyes and let the warm arm lull him to sleep.

It was only an hour or two though before something nudged him towards consciousness. The bed was shaking. Jim lifted himself up and blinked away the clinging confusion of sleep. Sherlock was twitching, his chest cold and clammy with sweat. He made noises so soft Jim could barely hear them but they sounded distressed. Jim frowned. Sherlock had never had nightmares, not even after watching London go up in flames. He grasped his shoulder.

“Sherly? Sherly, wake up.”

He turned his head but didn’t open his eyes, the whimpers more audible.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, look at me.”

Jim slipped a hand under his chin and Sherlock flipped out. His hands came up defensively, pushing at Moriarty’s chest as his lower half writhed away towards the edge of the bed.

“No, no, no, don’t, don’t touch-”

“Sherlock!” Jim shook him, “It’s me, it’s Jim, you’re okay.”

The shake got him to open his eyes at least, though he still didn’t recognise Jim for a minute. He slowly stopped struggling, chest moving frantically as his pounding heart calmed.

“Jim?”

“Yeah, it’s me Sherly. You’re alright, you’re safe.”

“Oh. I apologise.”

“No need, honey.”

 

Sherlock sat up and Jim backed away, watching silently as the detective went into his bathroom and closed the door. He didn’t want to leave the brunette if he was having a rough night but he couldn’t help thinking his presence in the bed might have caused the nightmare in the first place. Jim could hear the sink running and then silence, and then Sherlock climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Jim said carefully.

“Nothing to tell. Dreams are just an expression of the subconscious exploring various hypothetical situations while the brain’s memory-”

“Sherlock, stop.” Jim curled his lip.

He pressed his mouth together as if physically restraining the words, but he did stop.

“I’ve never told you about my nightmares but you’ve guessed what they’re about, yes?”

“I have a vague idea.”

“Do you think they’re just hypothetical situations?”

He inhaled deeply. “No.”

“So if I asked, would you tell me what yours are about?”

Sherlock turned his face away, staring blankly at the wall. He was quiet for so long Jim thought he might go back to sleep, and he’d half-turned to follow suit when Sherlock finally spoke.

“I dream about it. Not often, just...sometimes.”

“Understandable. Do you think it’s sparked by something during the day?”

“Perhaps. Doubtful.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important.”

Jim scoffed affectionately. “Idiot. All these months of me creeping in on my bad nights and you didn’t think it was important? You didn’t come to me?”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh Sherly, if I could rip her tongue out a second time I would.”

His lip wobbled slightly as he clasped his hands on the sheet. “I do not like people trying to control me.”

“I know.”

Sherlock turned abruptly and snuggled into Jim’s neck, arms wrapping around him. The criminal stilled for a moment before returning the embrace.

“I knew you would come. I think that’s the only way I got through it, knowing you wouldn’t stop until you found me.”

“Of course. I’d never abandon you.”

“It’s strange to think I trust you so much when once I expected you to shoot me for fun.”

Jim smiled and stroked his head. “Never for fun, Sherly. You’re much too special for that.”

 

Sherlock started making more of an effort to tell Jim when he was feeling lost or upset. He woke up some mornings to find Sherlock had come in during the night, the taller man almost suffocating him with his gangly limbs wrapped tight around Jim. He stroked his back and hummed soft lullabies and neither of them mentioned it after breakfast.

*****

They were out, eating on the sidewalk (or in Sherlock’s case, people-watching while Jim ate) when his face took on that unhappy mixture of confusion and anger. Jim lowered his cutlery slowly, still chewing as he watched the other man stare at someone across the street.

“Sherly?”

“Hmm?” he looked up distractedly.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No. I’m fine, really.” he hurriedly looked at his untouched plate.

Jim raised a brow. “You can tell me.”

Sherlock scowled, eyes flicking back across the road. “I feel...different.”

“Different how?”

“I notice people now.”

Jim didn’t want to admit he already knew that; he’d have to confess it was the reason he felt so murderous these days. “You’ve always been observant.”

“I’ve never been sexually interested in anyone, let alone random passers-by.”

Jim’s jaw clenched. “Well, you’ve had a sort of awakening I suppose. Your hormones have started running in ways you’re not used to-”

“I was raped, Jim,” he said flatly, ignoring the way Moriarty flinched, “I should be less interested in sex, not more.”

“It doesn’t always work that way. You’re curious by nature, and Aglaya’s assault probably left you with...questions.”

“But I can’t control it!” he growled, “They’re so ordinary. I mean look at that woman across the street. Simple-minded, vapid, kleptomaniac and still this-this _body_ is aroused by her.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem, Sherly. Your mind and body have been disconnected so long you don’t know how to handle the physical stimulation of sex and you can’t shut it out again.”

“Well it’s hateful. And distracting.”

Jim shrugged, sipping his iced tea. “I’m sorry, Sherly. I can’t help you with that. It’s up to that gorgeous brain to put things back the way they were.”

He’d gone back to his meal when Sherlock turned his head slowly, rubbing the fingers of one hand together thoughtfully, so Jim missed the hint of an idea in his smile.

 

Sherlock wandered upstairs, letting himself into Jim’s study. The criminal was bent over his desk, a breeze coming in through the open doors.

“Sherly! Come to help me with the Hapsburgs?”

“I was hoping you could help me actually.”

“Oh?” Jim pushed his chair back, “With?”

Sherlock crossed the room, running a hand idly over one bare collarbone. He stopped next to Jim’s chair and sank into his lap.

“Will you talk to me, Jim?”

“Aaaaabout?” he shifted slightly as Sherlock wrapped an arm around his shoulder, hand carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“The things you said in St Petersburg.”

Jim stiffened. “You want that from me?”

“I told you if there was anyone I wanted it from...”

“Sherlock, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you aren’t thinking clearly. I’d be just as bad as her if I did.”

“I need this, Jim. I need to get used to the sensations and the thoughts so I can control them.”

He could see the desperate look, the fear Sherlock had been hiding so well. His superior command over his body’s needs had been shaken and he wouldn’t feel safe and whole again until he got it back. But if Jim did this he’d lose the grip on his own tentative sanity.

“I can’t.”

“You can, you did it once before. I trust you.”

“That’s why I can’t.”

“I’m asking. You’re not taking advantage. I am perfectly consenting.”

“Well I’m not!” Jim glowered.

Sherlock raised his brows. “Excuse me. I thought you had made it fairly clear how you felt-”

“Get out.”

Sherlock pursed his lips but Jim pushed him away.

“Out!”

He headed for the door, pausing just before he closed it. “I’m sorry.”

Jim buried his face in his hands and fought to get his shoulders to stop shaking.

*****

It was a setback. Sherlock had been convinced Jim would help him but it seemed he had a stricter moral code than anticipated. Perhaps it was guilt for what happened in St Petersburg, or maybe even disgust at Sherlock’s new needs. After all, in the time they’d lived together Jim had never expressed a sexual desire for anyone except the detective. Maybe he thought it was weak to want other people.

His second choice was seducing random townfolk but it wasn’t ideal. Sherlock had no doubt he could do it but finding someone that held his interest the same way Jim did seemed impossible, and what would he do with them if he did lure one back? He couldn’t trust a stranger, certainly couldn’t bring them to the house.

Jim hadn’t come out of his study much since Sherlock’s attempt and he hadn’t come to his bed at all. Sherlock knew better than to disrupt him when he’d shut himself away – the last time had cost them several framed oil paintings and a corner of the fresco. So he sat in the main room watching TV and pouted and tried to ignore the way his gaze lingered on the actors longer than it should.

“Hey,” Sebastian walked in, a bottle of bourbon in his hand, “What are you watching?”

“Some drivel.” He shrugged dismissively.

“Mind if I join? Jim’s given me the night off.”

“Go ahead.”

“Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Sebastian set down the bottle and came back with two glasses, pouring for them both before propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Jim will scalp you if he catches you doing that to his furniture.”

“I’m not gonna tell him – are you?” he winked, taking a sip.

Sherlock bit back a grin and drank. It scorched his throat with its smoky taste, in a good way.

“You can change the channel if you like. It can’t be worse than this.” he gestured to the rom-com on screen.

“Wouldn’t have picked it as your genre.”

Sherlock didn’t want to say he’d gotten distracted by the male lead and forgotten to flick past, so he said nothing. Sebastian picked up the remote and tried a few stations before stopping on a rugby game. He glanced at Sherlock askance and the detective nodded indifferently. They drank in an amiable silence, watching the burly men running up and down the field. Sherlock could see the appeal in their broad shoulders and toned arms, but he wasn’t very attracted to them. They were too ordinary, too empty-headed, too...good.

Sebastian wasn’t good, his mind supplied.

Sherlock turned his head subtly and ran an appraising gaze over the sniper. He had a masculine, athletic build, all his power in his arms, tall and muscular. His blond hair was cut short but it looked good on him, emphasising the rugged bold features. His scars made Sherlock giddy just thinking about them. He wasn’t brilliant like Jim but he was wicked and clever in his own way, and his lips were very pink.

“Sebastian?”

He turned his head without looking away from the screen. “Yeah?”

 

Sherlock leaned forward and took his glass, setting them both on the coffee table before climbing into his lap. Moran immediately threw his hands up as if surrendering.

“Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”

“Will you kiss me?”

“Tell me why I should.”

“Aren’t you attracted to me?”

“No, you’re stunning, but I don’t understand why you’d want this. Especially with me. Especially after...”

“You’re visually pleasing, intelligent. Would it be unthinkable I might want to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmph. Well at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

He leaned down and kissed the blond, lips moving shyly. Sebastian returned it gently, still not sure what was going on but happy to oblige for now. Sherlock ran his hands over the firm chest beneath him and wiggled his groin. Sebastian broke away and grabbed his wrists.

 “Okay, is this another one of your experiments? Because I told Jim he had to make you stop doing that-”

“Shut up and kiss me Sebastian, and be rougher.”

He raised a brow but obeyed, hands clenching in Sherlock’s curls as he tugged their bodies together hard. The excitement, the feeling of risk and danger was tantalising. Sherlock felt himself stirring but as he continued to explore Sebastian’s arms and stomach that’s all it did – stir. It wasn’t enough.  He sighed and broke away.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?”

He thought for a moment. Sebastian’s idea of dirty talk was probably quite clichéd and certainly wouldn’t help. “Your work.”

“My work?”

“Yes. Tell me what it was like the first time you shot a man.”

“Um, okay. I was fifteen.”

“Good, keep going.” Sherlock kissed his neck, scratching down his chest lightly. He could feel Sebastian getting hard beneath his thighs and he brushed it with a hand.

“I – ah – I was running with this bad crowd. Mostly to piss off my dad, I guess. They were petty gang types, bit of theft, bit of low-level drug dealing, lots of bashing people up. There was this guy running things who was a few years older. He liked me.”

Sherlock’s eyes twinkled as he looked up, kneading the bulge in Sebastian’s pants. “Liked you like this?”

“I think so. He never tried anything. I probably would have knocked his face in if he had – I wasn’t quite so open to this stuff back then.”

Sherlock was erect enough now that he opened his pants and stuck a hand in. “Go on.”

 

“He gave me the gun. Showed me how to use it, blasting glass bottles mostly. I was good.”

“I’ll bet.”

“A natural I guess. I’d used hunting rifles at the estate but this was my first time with a pistol. The kick was different, you know?”

“Who was the victim?” Sherlock breathed, stroking himself lightly.

“Just some guy who owed him money. I went round the back of his shop and waited by his car. When he walked over I shot him through the heart first go.”

“How did it feel?”

Sebastian’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “Like being reborn. Like I was a machine or an animal and I was made for it.”

“Details, I need details!” Sherlock growled in frustration. The physical stimulation wasn’t working by itself.

“What kind of details?”

Sherlock flopped back onto the couch with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“What? No, no you started this. You explain what’s going on right now.”

“I thought you might be able to use your words the way Jim did but it can’t compare. It’s not your fault, he’s spent his whole life teasing people. He knows exactly what to say.”

“So I was just a substitute Jim?”

“I told you, you are quite attractive. And I trust you. But unfortunately it only seems to work when it’s him.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you upstairs giving _him_ blue balls?” Sebastian snapped crankily, downing a huge gulp.

“I tried. He sent me away.”

“What?” the sniper cocked a brow, “Jim’s mad about ya.”

“I thought so too but apparently he is unwilling to help. He said it was wrong.”

“What do you mean help you? Why are you even trying to get into someone’s pants?”

“I need to get a handle on these feelings and I thought the best way would be to saturate myself until they become familiar and controllable.”

Sebastian smiled. “And did you say that to Jim?”

“Of course.”

“You know, I never realised smart people could be so stupid until I met the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock scowled.

The blond laughed. “Jim doesn’t want you to use him for that. He _likes_ you, you dope.”

“I thought that would make it more appealing.”

“I’m sure you did. But imagine it, Holmes. Imagine the person you liked most, maybe even loved, asking if they could use you for sex for a while and knowing it meant nothing to them. Knowing you were just convenient.”

“He’s not just convenient. I think we’ve proved it has to be him. It doesn’t work with anyone else.”

“You can’t offer him something he wants this badly and tell him it’s only temporary! No man is gonna agree to that if he knows he’ll just lose it again. It’s easier for him if he can’t miss it.”

Sherlock rested his head back against the cushions as he finally understood. “I am a fool, aren’t I?”

“Yeah but we’re used to it. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a very uncomfortable situation I need to take care of.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.”

“Hey, just don’t ever mention it to the boss. He doesn’t share.”

Sebastian shuffled out awkwardly, taking the bottle with him, and Sherlock sat on the couch thoughtfully staring at the telly without seeing it.

 

Jim was asleep when his door opened but long years of having to watch his back meant he didn’t take long to wake up. He didn’t move at first, waiting to see if it was a threat. The familiar scent of tobacco, hydrochloric acid and expensive cologne drifted towards him and he lifted the sheets.

“Bad dream, Sherly?”

“Not quite.” He climbed in.

Jim’s eyes popped open as their torsos collided. “You’re naked.”

“Yes, it’s how I used to sleep before I had to worry about people joining me unexpectedly.”

“What do you call this then?”

“Expected.”

Jim tried to roll away but Sherlock caught him. He bit the inside of his cheek angrily.

“I told you Sherly, I’m not going to scratch your itches.”

“I know. You have feelings for me.”

Jim didn’t dispute it. They both knew it was true in whatever weird way Jim could have feelings for someone. But it was also something they didn’t usually acknowledge.

“I wouldn’t expect that to stop you taking what you wanted.”

“I could get sex anywhere, but it has to be you and I think...I think that means something.”

Jim frowned, raising himself to turn on the lamp so he could get a better look at Sherlock’s face. The detective was watching him with almost concern, fingers bunched in the edge of the pillow.

“You should hate me.”

“But I don’t.”

“Well you certainly shouldn’t like me.”

“You’re smart, handsome, funny. I cannot overstate how much I value the amusements you fill the empty hours with. I trust you. I feel safe with you. I feel we are equals.”

He paused, looking down.

“I have never...cared, I suppose, about anyone before. You took me away from London because you thought I was too attached to my friends and associates, but I did not feel the same things for them I feel for you. I liked them in different ways.”

Jim swallowed harshly. “Sherly, you don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“Maybe not but I don’t think either of us are experts when it comes to sentiment. Could you name what it is you feel for me?”

Jim lifted one shoulder and smiled.

“Then you can’t expect me to do any better describing it.”

Jim sat up. “I know it’s not love – at least not the way other people do it – but maybe it’s the closest we can get.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”

“And you think this not-love is enough to make you...pursue a physical relationship?”

“I think it is.”

Jim narrowed his gaze, still wary this could be just another game to Sherlock. But the brunette brushed a hand over his neck and kissed him, and Jim didn’t care. He rolled on top of Sherlock before pulling away quickly.

“Is this okay?”

Sherlock made a face. It was conflicting, because having Jim on top made him feel sort of protected and grounded but it also reminded him of the last time they’d tried to do anything like this.

“Perhaps give me a second to get used to it?”

“As slow as you like, Sherly.”

He sat perfectly still, letting Sherlock touch his arms and shoulders, letting him get a feel for the position and catch his breath. Eventually the taller man ran a hand along his back and tugged, dragging Jim flush against him.

“Talk to me.” he breathed against his ear.

Jim smiled. “What would you like to hear?”

Sherlock gasped as the smaller man brushed against his growing arousal.  “Tell me what you thought when I figured out Irene’s puzzle.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aw I know, I wussed out on the smut with this one. I just couldn't turn it mushy now.


End file.
